


Communicator Woes

by oly_chic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, established relationship for Jazz/Prowl, pre-relationship for Drift/Ratchet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 19:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: Chapter 1: Jazz breaks his communicator and panics, interrupting Prowl's orn (humor)Chapter 2: Drift fears problems surfacing over a broken communicator, so he turns to Ratchet to save the orn (fluff)





	1. Jazz/Prowl (G1)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Transformers.
> 
> I dropped my phone and it was damaged beyond immediate use. Naturally I decided to make others suffer for it.

_"Ahh! Noooo!"_

Prowl heard Jazz's scream from the hallway outside his office. He dropped his stylus and nearly fell out of his chair before running. His door was too slow, forcing him to squish through it. A few paces down to his right was Jazz, his face contorted in horror as he looked down at a communicator, one that doubled as a personal computer. Or at least what was a communicator, based on the cracked mess.

"Jazz, what's happening? Are we under attack?" Why didn't Teeletran sound the alarm?

"Worse, my communicator is ruined beyond use! The screen won't turn on!"

Prowl nearly tripped over himself. "Excuse me? Are you alright?" Prowl wasn't sure what was the appropriate question for the matter. Jazz's reaction was completely off the mark of sensible.

Jazz threw his free hand up in the air, dramatically shaking it. "Do you have any idea what was on this?!"

"I don't. I'm sure one of our scientists can fix it."

"They're all busy - working on things that are on this communicator." Jazz's stressed voice was affecting Prowl's nerves. He needed Jazz to calm down.

Prowl put his hands up and slowly lowered them, meaning to soothe Jazz. "I'm sure your terminal has copies."

"No! I don't allow certain files to be copied off of this, and since I always have it on me in a hidden transformation pocket, the Decepticons can't find and hack it." Jazz's free hand scrubbed his face. "This is the worst thing that could have happened right now. I need those files. Not to mention Bee's party is on here, and I certain didn't copy that. And Blaster's party is next deca-orn! How can I plan mission and parties with this broken?" Now Jazz was pulling at his audial horn.

Prowl resisted facepalming. "I'm sure Perceptor can work overtime to fix it."

"He's already working overtime," Jazz snapped.

Primus, Jazz was not handling this well. "I don't understand, Jazz. You can remain calm stealing enemy intelligence under fire, but this has your more upset than the possibility of capture."

"Capture I can do, not being able to plan is something I can't do." Jazz complained.

Prowl could sympathize somewhat. He couldn't completely sympathize, since practically having a panic attack over party planning was not something he'd ever do, but mission planning he understood. He considered lecturing Jazz on appropriate backup methods. Another time.

His tac-net threw out a name. "What about Blaster? Our communications expert may have some expertise in fixing communicators."

Jazz perked up and his mouth formed a little 'O'. "Of course! I knew there was a reason I love you!"

"I am so flattered," Prowl returned deadpan.

"Come on, no time to waste." Jazz turned and fled down the hallway at a brisk jog.

"I have more important things to do," Prowl grumbled. Still, if his partner said "come on," then he'd follow. Even if his mate was half crazy. Prowl chased after Jazz at the same pace as the saboteur.

He was not accustomed to jogging in the _Ark_. He heard Jazz yell out "hey ya!" to someone around a corner, and when Prowl rounded the same corner he saw Ironhide and Ratchet. He nodded at the pair.

A klik after Prowl passed them he heard Ironhide's loud voice. "What in tarnation? If something's got them running, I'm going to find out."

Ratchet's response was next. "I'm not risking this being a medical emergency someone's trying to hide again. I'm coming too."

Prowl looked back and saw the pair running after him. In a voice far too calm for a running Officer, he said, "There is no emergency. You may return to what you were doing."

"I'll be the judge of that," Ironhide barked.

This was getting out of control. All because of a stupid cracked communicator that had files Jazz didn't properly back up. Prowl stopped and put his hands up, palms facing outward to stop them. "This is really not a serious matter."

Ironhide and Ratchet blew right past him as if they didn't notice. Sighing, Prowl turned around and continued quickly moving after the three mechs. Now he had to be there so Jazz didn't get beat up by Ironhide and Ratchet.

At least Prowl knew where Jazz was heading. Blaster was on monitor duty, halfway across the _Ark_. When he saw the open doorway he heard Jazz exclaim, "Blaster, save me!"

Blaster was audibly alarmed. "What's wrong? Are we in a fight?"

Ironhide and Ratchet burst through the door, with Prowl hot on their heels. Ironhide demanded, "What fight? What's going on?"

"Is anyone hurt?" Ratchet also demanded.

Jazz looked back and forth between the three Officers and Blaster. "What's with everyone? No, I need Blaster to perform life-altering procedures on this communicator." Jazz held up his communicator.

If Prowl had hoped for a calm reaction from Ironhide and Ratchet, he would have been grossly wrong. Lucky for him, he had no such hope.

Ironhide bellowed, "You mean I ran for nothing but a stupid communicator? Do you know the last time I ran without a damn Decepticon involved?!"

"Damn it, Jazz. I hardly get any time off and you pull off a stupid stunt like this?" Ratchet shook his fist. "I swear, if you don't give me a good reason to forgive you, I promise your next checkup won't be as nice as it usually is."

"Okay, first off, Ratchet you do not do 'nice' checkups." Jazz said, suddenly speaking in a no-nonsense tone, as if Jazz himself was not wrapped up in nonsensical behaviors. "Ironhide, you could use some running before those gears and servos of yours freeze up. So in other words, you owe me for getting you to move."

Ironhide lunged for Jazz and Prowl scrambled to grab his back leg, the only part of Ironhide within reach. The red mech fell to the ground with an "Oof!"

Everyone was stunned, unsure what to make of it. Especially Baster, from the look in his optics. Prowl ordered, "Blaster, return to duty until your contacted again, or your shift ends. Whichever comes first. Everyone else, outside."

"But my communicator!" Jazz whined. "I need to give it to Blaster."

Prowl pinched his nose. Chances were Ironhide was trying to fathom what just happened and how to pummel his Second-in-Command without being court-martialed. Of all the Autobots to literally floor Ironhide, Prowl was likely not in Ironhide's Top Ten list. "Jazz, hand the communicator to Blaster, and do not say a thing. Not. One. Word. I may love you, even in these trying times, but I will throw you in the brig if you disobey me. Blaster, do not access any files or data on that communicator."

Jazz pouted but silently handed the communicator to a nervous Blaster. The communications expert timidly took the communicator as if it would bite him. Perhaps he feared an Officer would do it, Prowl didn't know.

"Now everyone not on duty will come with me," Prowl ordered.

"Great going, Hide and Ratchet," Jazz grumbled. "If you'd kept your noses out of my business, I wouldn't be in trouble."

"Jazz!"

"Jeez, Prowl, no need to yell."

Prowl fought hard to keep his composure. "Just, just everyone follow me to where we can handle this without observation from the troops."

"Yeah, I need to thank you for my little fall," Ironhide muttered.

Prowl ignored the passive threat and moved everyone into the nearby conference room. Once the door closed, Ironhide began by shaking a finger at Prowl. "How dare you grab me like that!"

"I wasn't about to let you harm Jazz, and you should have accounted for that," Prowl quickly countered. "Jazz, you owe them an apology."

"Oh Pit no I don't. They followed me of their own accord. Not my fault if they got caught up." Jazz crossed his arms.

Ratchet huffed. "You think this is funny? I hardly get any time to myself, and what if there's a real emergency going on right now that needs me?"

"Then First Aid would have hailed you by now. Don't go throwing guilt my way. It won't stick. Rubber and glue, and that sort of thing."

All three gave Jazz a look as if he was insane. Jazz defended, "Human saying, okay? Ratchet's words bounce off of me."

"Why you..."

"Ratchet, please." Prowl deeply in-vented. "Ironhide and Ratchet, I'm sorry that this has gotten out of hand and taken time away from your off-duty activities. Jazz may not think he has much to apologize for, but I believe an apology is owed."

"And for tripping me?" Ironhide raised his optic ridge challengingly.

Prowl wanted to say that was Ironhide's fault for coming between two mates. He swallowed his pride. "I apologize for any hurt that resulted from my actions."

Jazz _humphed._ "Don't apologize. He got what he deserved for overreacting."

"Jazz, you are not helping the situation," Prowl said as the other two whirled on Jazz. "Please, everyone calm down and remember we are Officers, not fresh troops."

That sobered everyone up. "I'm out of here," Ratchet declared. "If I have to deal with one more stupid thing from either of you, I swear you won't like what I have to say about it."

"Same for me," Ironhide replied. The pair left, both clearly annoyed, leaving Prowl and Jazz alone.

Jazz shrugged. "I need to see if my communicator can be repaired."

"Don't you dare leave," Prowl snapped.

"But my communicator!"

"Can wait." Prowl finished. "You and I are not done here. First off, your actions have been juvenile. Second of all..." Prowl noticed Jazz's antsy shuffling. "Just get out of here. Go check on your precious communicator."

Jazz barely waited for Prowl to finish before fleeing the room. Primus, sometimes Prowl wondered what he'd do without Jazz, and it wasn't always a bad thing.


	2. Drift/Ratchet (IDW)

"Ratchet, I need some assistance."

Ratchet was in the middle of cleaning his surgical instruments when the tense but quiet words interrupted the silent, empty Medibay. Ratchet looked up to see Drift. "What's wrong?"

Drift scanned the room as if he was worried about observers. A communicator was produced in Drift's hand, one that served as a personal computer as well. "Can you perform some sort of 'surgery' on it? It fell while I was exercising and now the screen won't turn on. I can't take calls, or responds to texts, and someone is _trying_ to reach me."

"How do you know someone’s trying to reach you? You should ask Perceptor to fix it."

Drift shook his helm. "I tried asking Perceptor but he doesn't have time. There's no chance I'm asking Brainstorm." Drift shuddered. "I'd have a communicator-gun returned to me." Suddenly the communicator started buzzing and a melodic ringtone played. "See? Someone needs me. Please, help."

Ratchet rubbed the inner corner of one optic. While his surgical tools could probably put back together a communicator, he may not have the necessary skills. Not to mention there was a problem with parts available. "I'd like to help you out, but I doubt I have parts on-hand."

"It's a damaged screen; surely you've got something on-hand that you could modify to fit."

Only for Drift would Ratchet do this. If it were anyone else, he'd tell them to bugger off no matter how much they pleaded. Lucky for Drift, the fearful and worried look in his optics compelled Ratchet to act.

Ratchet carefully swept his unsanitized tools to the side to clear an opening on the table. "Let me see."

Their fingers briefly touched as Drift handed over the communicator, and Ratchet's optics flashed from heightened awareness. He looked to see if Drift noticed the reaction, but Drift’s attention was on the communicator. While tension remained in his neck and shoulders, Drift's face was a little more relaxed. If Ratchet could get Drift to relax all the way, then the struggle would be worth it.

It looked like a standard communicator screen. His first action was gently prying off the face plate so he could better confirm if there was anything special about it. There wasn’t. That didn’t solve the problem that he didn’t have a screen available. Unless…

He did have access to a spare Medibay communicator. If he could free the screen from the spare, then he could repair Drift’s. It would require him to bother Perceptor later for repairs, but he was willing to handle that for Drift.

“Let me get a spare communicator,” he said.

Drift’s optics brightened with hope. “Thank you.”

Ratchet returned with the spare communicator, and glanced at Drift. His body language was still tense and he was glancing at the outside door, as if he was worried someone would notice him fretting over his communicator. "Is something else wrong?" Ratchet asked.

"I just don't want anyone to know how much this bothers me." He glanced at the door once more.

Ratchet hoped that the repair would help Drift relax. He didn’t like seeing the swordsmech less than happy.

With painstaking slow and careful movements, he lifted the good screen and replaced the bad screen. He left the spare with no screen but gently wrapped it up. Drift’s was finished a little later, none too quickly, and Ratchet handed it back.

Drift took it tenderly from Ratchet’s hand. “Oh,” Drift said as he checked the call log and messages. He laughed awkwardly. “It’s Roddy. All of it’s been him. I guess I should’ve known.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No… I should call him back, but I’ll do it from my quarters so I’m not bothering you.”

Ratchet looked Drift up and down. “Is he bothering you?”

Drift blinked. “Not really? Why do you ask?”

“You look very tense.”

Drift shrugged. “I _may_ have gotten a helmache from panicking over this thing. I mean, I don’t think I acted upset, but it was still upsetting.”

“I see. How bad is the helmache?” Ratchet was concerned.

“I’ve had worse.”

“That wasn’t my question. Drift, how bad is it?”

Drift’s optics shifted down. “My helm is throbbing and it feels like the back is about to explode off my neck.”

“That may be a few causes. It could be your neck joints, energon vessels, or cables. Sit down on one of the berths and let me examine you.”

Drift followed Ratchet’s orders and sat down on the closest berth. Ratchet fetched a small bag and brought it over as he stood behind his patient. He carefully pulled out a remote and ten little gadgets, capable of fitting on each fingertip. He explained, “These will heat up the energon vessels, improving flow, while relaxing your cables. We’ll see if that’s enough. If not, I can use other methods to help.”

“How does it work?” Drift wondered.

“I massage your neck with these on my fingertips.”

“I see,” Drift replied, his voice quiet. He settled in better, adjusting himself and looking straight forward.

Ratchet activated the tools and started off slow and light, with moderate heat applied as he massaged Drift. At first everything seemed normal and Ratchet treated Drift like a typical patient by maintaining a respectful and professional decorum. As his massage deepened, Drift softly squirmed. Seeing Drift squirm under his touch gave Ratchet ideas, ones about cuddling together on a couch with soft touches.

Ratchet shook his helm to rid himself of the images. Now was not the time. Drift was a patient, and that was it. Of course, there was nothing wrong with be satisfied about helping a patient feel better. Ratchet allowed himself to indulge in the idea of bringing a smile to Drift’s face, easing his pain.

He could feel the tension ease out of Drift’s frame, but some of it was still there, particularly at the junction between his neck and shoulders. Ratchet switched tactics. “If you flare your armor around your shoulders and neck, I can get beneath the seams and massage your cables.”

“O-Okay,” Drift agreed with a stutter.

Setting down the medical equipment on his fingertips, Ratchet gently placed his fingers inside Drift’s seams. He wanted to actually massage Drift’s cables with his fingers, not with tools. He was embellishing a desire, but all in the name of professional medical procedures.

He kneaded Drift’s cables and every so often he felt a tremble in Drift’s frame. If it weren’t for his steady hands and mindset, Ratchet might have shivered at the feel of an otherwise-intimate touch. He kept reminding himself he was a medic doing a medical procedure. He told himself that Drift’s reactions were just the results of his effective efforts. Neither thought entirely helped him.

Ratchet stopped when he felt all the cables relax. Was he really done? How rewarding and yet disappointing. “Are you feeling better?”

The swordsmech snapped up like he’d forgotten where he was at. He spun around in his spot. “Yes, much better. Thank you, Ratchet. I…”

Ratchet waited for Drift’s words, hoping for something stronger than a thank you.

“I appreciate all your effort,” Drift swallowed.

Oh. Well it was nice to be appreciated by Drift. “I’m always available to help.”

“Even when your off-duty?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he gruffly responded.

Drift stared at Ratchet for a long moment. “Ratchet…”

Drift’s communicator started ringing. He snatched it up and sighed. “It’s Roddy again. Don’t stay on-duty too long. Take care of yourself. I hate to see you less than perfect.”

“I’ve been around too much to be perfect.”

Drift frowned and set down the communicator. Ratchet looked at him quizzically. “Aren’t you going to pick up? Wasn’t your whole point in being here to save that communicator since Rodimus wanted you?”

“If it’s something that can’t wait, then he can reach out to Magnus. This is more important.” Drift slid off the berth to stand in front of Ratchet. His hands swung forward before stopping short of Ratchet’s hands. They fell to his side. “Ratchet, don’t you ever let anything make you feel less than perfect.”

He stared into Drift’s optics and saw the fierceness behind his words. Knowing that Drift strongly believed in Ratchet unraveled his self-doubt. “Okay.”

Drift nodded. “Good. Now I got to go and see if Roddy needs me on deck. You’ll be fine?”

How strange to have his patient ask him that question. It was always like Drift, to check on Ratchet as if he were the medic. “Of course. Now go see what our Captain is worrying about before something blows up.”

“In a moment,” Drift said. “Don’t wear yourself out. I’m thinking of visiting Swerve’s tonight and it would be nice to see you there.”

“Then I’ll be there.” He knew it was foolish to promise something when he had a medic’s schedule, but short of an emergency, he would be there. Nothing brightened his orn more than seeing Drift happy and relaxed.

Drift smiled. “Good. See you soon.”

Ratchet watched Drift go, and hoped his shift ended on time. His finger tingled at the idea of seeing him again in Medibay, instead of only at Swerve’s. His fingers kept tingling even when he returned to his surgical tools. Normally Ratchet disliked lingering feelings, but with Drift it was different – it was always different.


End file.
